by Annie O'Neil
As a group, the surgical team had looked up to the digital clock and they’d all waited for him to call the time of death. Then they had each followed suit, as per protocol. The same protocol that had dictated he had been too close to the patient to be her surgeon.
Hearing the collective confirmation that Jean-Luc’s only daughter had in fact died in his care had been akin to receiving an axe-blow to his heart.
A part of him had died that day too. And the quest to find it again—that vital spark that had made him courageous enough to believe he could perform surgery on the most critically injured people and give them another shot at life—had brought him here. To Maggie.
A gentle sniggering at his side brought him back to the present.
“I still can’t believe you let that poor child start going through life being called Walter.” Maggie was shaking her head in disbelief.
“Sorry?”
“The baby from our first call-out? The other week?” Maggie prompted. “He was adorable. Absolutely gorgeous, with chubby little cheeks and a little round belly. He would’ve been even more adorable if he’d had your name. Walter? You really think he’s going to be down with the kids with a name like that?”
“Raphael isn’t exactly a guarantee of a gilded life.”
Maggie sucked in a sharp breath, rolled her eyes to the cloudless sky then swore softly under her breath. Not something he’d ever heard her do.
“Desolé. I’m sorry, Maggie.” He tugged his fingers through his hair. “I seem to be hitting all the wrong notes lately.”
She gave him a sharp no kidding? look, her features instantly melting with a wash of remorse. “Don’t worry. We all have off days.”
Days. Months. Years, almost.
Everyone in Paris had eventually drawn back. Not that he blamed them. Until he made things right with Jean-Luc and his family he was no good to anyone. He’d gone to their homes to try and explain, to apologize, each time knowing whatever he’d say wouldn’t be enough. Could never be enough.
All you do is take!
There was truth in those words. He’d taken their love. Their hospitality. Their kindness.
Their daughter and grandchild.
Every single time he’d raised his hand to the door to knock, he’d turned and walked away.
“What’ll it be, mate? Big Bap? Little Bap? Cardboard box?”
Without his having noticed, they’d reached the front of the queue.
Maggie was tipping her head toward the rotund sandwich vendor. “You’re up, Raphael. I’m having the Pie-Eyed Pastrami. What’ll you have? My shout.”
His heart softened at the hopeful expression playing across her features. He owed her kindness. The kindness he seemed to be able to show the little mutt who still followed him faithfully from the seaside pool and back every night. But extending it to a person... Too risky. Too painful.
“Raphael? Your order?” Maggie gently nudged his arm.
“Yes, of course. Um...cheese. A plain cheese sandwich with be fine.”
“We don’t do plain old cheese, mate.” The counter clerk looked at him as if he’d grown an extra head, then changed his disbelief into a suggestion. “We’ve got a Buttie Brie Blinder. Would that float your boat? It’s got horseradish and some properly ponging brie in it. I can stick some beetroot in there for you if you like. Adds sort of a vinegar twist. A real ripper.”
Raphael blinked up at the vendor, not entirely sure how to respond.
“Smelly cheese,” Maggie prompted, her brows cinching together. “You know... Brie. Just like at home, in France. You always said cheese wasn’t any good unless you could smell it a block away.” She laughed at a sudden memory. “That’s how you taught me which cheese was which. The smell-o-meter.”
He looked at her, almost confused as to who she was referring to. Had he ever spoken with her about cheese in such a light-hearted way? “He’ll have the Blinder,” Maggie told the perplexed-looking vendor, and then, after collecting their drinks, steered Raphael over toward an empty picnic table under the shade of a large tree a few meters from the van. She handed him a cold bottle of water. “Here. You don’t seem entirely with it. Probably dehydrated. You’ve got to remember to keep drinking water. It’s really easy to dehydrate here. Even in the winter.”
“You shouldn’t be working with me.”
The words were out before Raphael could stop them. And they had the opposite effect to what he’d been hoping for.
Maggie’s body language instantly shifted from open to closed. A woman protecting what was left of her dignity in the wake of an excruciating dressing-down. She pushed aside the packet of crisps she’d bought unopened, and began toying with the lid of her water bottle.
“Um... Raphael. I’ve actually already spoken to the chief. You’re obviously in a different league to me, so it shouldn’t be too hard to get you transferred to a different station or working with a different partner. It’s pretty obvious you and I aren’t exactly a match—”
“Non.”
Her eyes widened as he held his palms up between them.
Fix this. Now.
“No, no, Maggie—that isn’t it at all.”
“Look, there’s no need to try and cover up the fact that things have not exactly been relaxed between us.” She looked away for a moment, swallowing the emotion rising in her throat. “I know we were friends back in the day, but things change. People change.”
He had to stop this before it went too far.
“Maggie, it’s me who is not worthy to work with you.”
“What are you talking about?” Her green eyes widened again, this time in disbelief. “You’re a qualified surgeon. You’ve worked around the world. All I’ve done is my paramedic training and then managed to move from a small town to a big one.”
He shook his head and lifted a hand to stop her. “Please, don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Put yourself down. You are...” He reached across the table and took Maggie’s hands in his before she could withdraw them. “You are, hands down, one of the kindest, most qualified medical personnel I have ever met.”
She huffed out a disbelieving laugh. One entirely bereft of humor. “If you’re going for flattery to let me down easily, please don’t bother. Look.” She threw a look over her shoulder. “The sandwiches will be ready in a minute. We’ve not eaten all day, so let’s just get our blood sugar back to normal, get through the rest of our shift and then I’ll ask the chief again for one of us to be transferred. They need people everywhere in Sydney, and with someone of your caliber it shouldn’t be a problem. Easy-peasy.”
She looked as miserable as he felt. And that was when it hit him. She cared for him. And not just as a friend.
Hard-hitting waves of emotion bashed against his chest, one after the other. Disbelief. Concern. Regret. And then, like the smallest ray of sunlight penetrating a sheet of pure darkness...hope.
Hope that if Maggie could still see something good in him there might be a way for him to redeem himself.
He moved the crisps and their drinks to the side and reached across the table, tipping Maggie’s chin up with a finger so that her gaze met his. The sheen of tears glazing her eyes didn’t come as a surprise. But his response to them did.
He had nothing to offer Maggie right now and she needed to know why.
“I killed a child, Maggie. I don’t know who I am anymore. I think I came to you so I could remember who I once was. To see if I could be that man again.”
CHAPTER SIX
MAGGIE STARED AT the foil-wrapped sandwiches the vendor had deposited on their table, swiping at the tears spilling freely onto her cheeks. The ability to breathe had been snatched from her. She forced herself to meet Raphael’s gaze, knowing it hadn’t left her since he’d dropped his bombshell. She didn’t recognize her own voice when she
finally spoke.
“A child? What do you mean?”
Raphael tipped his head into his hands for a moment, and when he raised it again those dark shadows all but obliterated the blue in his eyes.
“Her name was Amalie,” he began, his voice hollow with grief. “She was my best friend’s daughter.”
“You mean Jean-Luc?” Disbelief was icing her veins. “But... I don’t understand. You would never do anything like that. Never.”
“She was in an automobile accident,” Raphael conceded.
Maggie felt the pounding of her heart descend from her throat to her chest as he continued in that same, painfully toneless expression.
“It was a motorway pile-up. One of those multi-car incidents that happen when everyone’s in a hurry and a thick fog descends. One minute everyone was driving at the national speed limit and the next—” He made a fist and rammed it into his other hand.
The gesture was so finite that Maggie flinched against the suggested screech of tires and clashing of metal on metal as one car ran into another.
“Were you in the car?”
Raphael shook his head. “Non. It was Jean-Luc’s wife, Marianne, and their daughter Amalie who was three.”
Maggie’s curiosity flared. This was the first time she’d heard him mention Jean-Luc, though she’d tried raising the topic a couple of times. Pressing for details would have meant explaining that she’d dropped the ball too, so she hadn’t pursued it.
She’d stayed with Jean-Luc’s family for her student exchange year and they had been unbelievably kind and generous. Over the year she had wanted to write to them so many times, to tell them how grateful she was for that incredible year in Paris, but apart from the quick thank-you note she’d forced herself to write she had ceased all contact.
She should tell him. She would. But this was his time.
“What happened?”
“Marianne suffered superficial injuries and a couple of broken ribs, but was fine. Thank heaven. But Amalie—she suffered massive internal trauma when another vehicle hit theirs from the side.”
Maggie’s fingers flew to cover her mouth. “I am so sorry.”
Raphael’s brows cinched together as he huffed out a frustrated sigh. “Don’t be. Not for me, anyway.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We were all going to go for supper after Jean-Luc and I had finished work. You know he’s become an amazing lawyer?”
His sad smile was in direct contrast to the pride in his voice that his friend had done so well.
“I don’t see why this means I can’t feel sorry for the loss you suffered. You two were so close. Amalie must’ve been like a—”
He shook his head. He didn’t want her to say the words. Like a daughter.
Had he wanted children? Lost one of his own?
“Going out was my idea. We’d moved to different areas so didn’t see each other socially as much. Nothing fancy. A walk along the Seine... Amalie always enjoyed watching the boats, so we had picked a little restaurant on Ile Saint Louis.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Was it the same memory that had popped into Maggie’s mind? Of that bright spring day when he’d taken her for some of the famed ice cream on the little island in the middle of the Seine? She’d somehow managed to get ice cream on her cheek, and he had leant forward and swiped it off with his thumb. His eyes had linked to hers for one moment longer than she would have expected of a friend...
Maggie forced the thought away. This wasn’t about her. Nor was the blame for that car accident something Raphael should shoulder. She could see where he was coming from. The number of times she’d asked herself whether or not her mother might have had just a few more months if she’d been the one at home caring for her...
She pressed her thumbs to her eyes and did her best to squish the thoughts away. She watched Raphael tease at the aluminum wrapper holding his sandwich hostage. He looked about as interested in having lunch as she was. Not very.
She ducked her head and tried to catch his eye. “You know, people organize going out for supper all the time. That hardly makes you culpable. Road traffic accidents are just that. Accidents.”
Raphael continued as if he hadn’t heard her.
“Jean-Luc’s wife and Amalie had been out of the city for the day and, as they were running late, had decided to drive in. Normally they would’ve taken the Métro.” His voice grew hollow. “And then the accident happened.”
“How did you find out?”
He looked her square in the eye. “The casualties were brought to our hospital. When Jean-Luc arrived I said he must stay with his wife in the recovery ward while they waited on news of Amalie. He was so frightened. I’ve never seen a man more terrified in my—” His voice caught in his throat.
Maggie dug her fingernails into her palms, forcing herself not to reach out for him. Every pore in her body ached to console him. To tell him it would be all right. But he didn’t want comfort. She would have had to be blind not to see the torture that had become all but ingrained in his cell structure.
“He knew the protocol. He knew I was too close to Amalie to be her doctor. But he begged me to look after his little girl. To do everything I could. There were only junior surgeons available, and she had suffered severe internal trauma as well as massive blood loss by the time she reached the hospital.”
“So...you were following his wishes.” Maggie gave a little shake of the head. “I don’t understand why you’re torturing yourself.”
He widened his eyes in disbelief, opened his palms wide and slammed them down on the table, sending shudders through their untouched meals. “I should have said no. I was too close.”
“So why didn’t you?”
The look he shot her told her he had asked himself the same thing again and again.
“We were short-staffed. Most of the other doctors on duty that day were less experienced—fresh out of medical school—and casualties from the accident were flooding in, one after the other. The senior surgeon on staff told me to find someone else, if I could, but there was no one I trusted with that precious life. My best friend’s child.”
The anguish in his voice was palpable, and despite the heat of the day Maggie wrapped her arms around herself to fend off the wave of shivers trickling down her spine.
“Had you been specifically told not to operate on her? Before you took Amalie into surgery, I mean?” Maggie wasn’t sure why she’d asked the question, but getting everything in order seemed essential if she was to understand why Raphael was blaming himself for something that had patently been an awful accident.
He shook his head. No. He hadn’t.
“I was a surgeon. A good one, I thought. I had vowed to do my very best—promised my dearest friend I would save his child—and when it came down to it I failed. I failed as a friend. I failed as a doctor. I failed a child. It is my fault his little girl died and I will carry the weight of that burden until the end of my days.”
“And that’s why you came here?”
He shook his head, not entirely understanding.
“To try and unload the burden...with distance?” she clarified.
He tipped his head back and forth.
“No. It’s not so simple. I just—”
This was the moment he’d been over again and again. Doing the checklist. Ensuring he’d done everything he could to stabilize Amalie.
“My instinct was to stay, to see the surgery through right to the end, but there was another patient in the next room. They needed me to operate straight away. All that was left to do with Amalie was close up. An easy enough job for the junior surgeons.”
“But...?”
“She went into cardiac arrest.”
From the look on Maggie’s face he knew he didn’t need to spell out the lengths his team had gone to in their
vain attempt to keep her alive.
“If I’d made the decision to stay in the room instead of rushing off to the next surgery she might have lived.”
“Might have?”
“I’ll never know.”
He rattled through Amalie’s injuries in detail. The surgical procedures he’d followed. The gut instinct that had told him to stay. The pragmatic override that had pulled him from the room.
“And the other patient? What happened with them?”
“They lived.” He corrected himself. “She. She lived.”
She’d even sent him flowers, with a note expressing her gratitude.
“So...” Maggie pressed her fingertips to her lips for a moment. “Africa? Vietnam? What was that for? Were you atoning, or something?”
Raphael considered Maggie for a moment before answering. He should tell her what Jean-Luc had said and the cutting effect his words had had.
All you do is take!
He’d felt... He’d actually felt orphaned after the Couttards had made it clear they weren’t ready to see him and Jean-Luc had dismissed him with a flick of the hand. More so than when his actual parents had died. That was how precious his friendship had been. Jean-Luc and his parents had been his family.
“Go,” Jean-Luc had said. “Go show what a big man you are somewhere else. You obviously know what is best. Who deserves your magic surgeon’s hands. Your time. It must be so precious, your time. Please...” He’d stepped in close and said the last words so quietly Raphael had had to lean in to hear him. “Don’t let me take one minute more of it.”
And then he’d shut the door. Hadn’t taken his calls. Raphael had no idea if he’d read the letters he’d written or torn them to shreds still in their envelopes.
“Things were difficult between me and Jean-Luc. His parents, too.”
“What?” Maggie laughed. “They didn’t banish you from France, did they?”
The black look that swept across his features suggested she wasn’t far off the mark.
Raphael cleared his throat. “I needed to prove to myself I could still do it. Make a difference as a doctor.”